Defending Intentions
by beverytender
Summary: Sequel to "Therapy." Slightly more grown up material, and set a few months after the end of Therapy.
1. just a maybe

Carly's gotten so busy - and so OCD, Sam thinks privately, amused - that now they schedule hanging out.

Every other Saturday is lunch, shopping and gossip about Carly's latest crush. Occasionally, when Carly's heard something interesting from Freddie, they'll discuss that, but usually Sam's unwilling unless she's really mad at him.

Carly got earfuls during the couples' therapy mess.

But in the six months since then, it's mostly been quiet, or at least, the arguments have been the normal ones.

Sam's fidgetier than usual today, and Carly knows something's coming, but it doesn't work its' way out until just after lunch, and then Sam blurts out for all to hear that, "Me and Freddie haven't had sex for a month."

Carly blinks. She wishes, yet again, that things like that weren't pretty much par for the course in her life. A few minutes later, sitting in the car for privacy, Carly braces herself and says, "Okay. Go on."

Sam has that look on her face, the one that says 'I think I broke some normal person rule and I may even feel bad about it,' and she takes a deep breath before she speaks, "You remember how Mrs. Sack'o'crazy went back to Seattle, er, abruptly at Christmas?"

God, does she ever, Freddie had been obsessed with 'taking over the family's holiday celebration,' and there had been way too many discussions about fish loaf and the like for a month or so before Christmas. Carly nods.

"Well - she walked in on us." It looks for a second like Sam's about to continue, but she doesn't, and Carly holds in a relieved sigh. And then it's exasperated sibling.

"Sam. She was there for one day. You couldn't-" She makes vague hand motions to mean 'keep your hands off each other' which are not the same as the hand motions to mean 'keep your hands to yourself.' "-for 24 hours?"

"Not then we couldn't. Now it isn't a problem." Sam answers, only a touch bitterly, then continues, "Anyways, I think that was what started this. Right after that was that business trip, over New Year's? And when he got back from that - nothing happened."

"...Nothing happened?" Carly squishes her eyebrows together, confused.

"I mean, I - welcomed him back like always," Sam raises her own eyebrows and makes her own vague hand motions, which are a lot dirtier than Carly's, "And nothing happened."

Carly's still a foggy on what she means, but that's usually a good thing, so she blinks and nods, "... I see."

"Yeah. And the less than enthusiastic responses continued, so I tried something new, and now he actually wears pajamas to bed."

"..." She doesn't want to know this, she's a hundred percent certain, but she asks anyways, "What 'something new?'"

"Nothing crazy!" Sam's just the tiniest bit defensive now, clearly, this has been a point of discussion, "I just... talked more."

Carly almost laughs - the idea itself is funny enough, and add to that the ridiculous notion that Sam 'just' does anything.

"Go ahead," Sam grumbles, "Gods knows I laughed a little-" (that's probably a bigger part of the problem, Carly thinks, then her talking) "-at getting what must be the only guy on the planet that completely stops when you say 'harder.'"


	2. leave me sore

Sam gets home from work the next day to an outraged Freddie, "You told Carly?"

His face is literally red - or at least, a dark shade of pink, his fists were even clenched at his sides, and she slows in hanging up her coat, "What?"

"You told Carly. You told her I couldn't -" This time, it is not even close to a question.

Sam turns to him, "No. I never said that."

He points a finger at her, "But you did tell her!"

"I told her we were having - issues." She's honestly trying to be pacifying, even though it feels wrong, and she's honestly failing. "It's Carly. Is there anything we don't tell her?"

"Yes! This we don't tell her, this you don't tell her. It's my problem, not yours, and it's not something you share!" He turns, storms out of the room and she follows, sighing.

"Oh, come on, Freddie. This is completely a 'we' problem, it affects me too."

The glare he sends her way informs her this was the wrong thing to say just seconds before the door slammed in her face does.

"Freddie, come on! I'm sorry, okay?" At least she's better at apologizing, if she's not any better at anything else.

The click of the lock is her answer, and she curses herself for leaving her lock picks in the nightstand. It's been a while since she's had to get through this door. It's the hollow, cheap sort, and she considers just busting through it - but there are paper clips in the other room, and that's much kinda on her shoulder and wallet. It takes her longer than it should to unlock the door with the paper clips, she's gotten rusty, but at least she's still capable of beating her mother's time.

He gives her a dirty look once she's in the room - she won't say she isn't a little delighted, it's more feeling than there's been here for a while - and goes to close the bathroom door and repeat the whole thing. She races forward, wedges her foot in the door only to have him keep trying to close it.

"Ow!" She says, more out of surprise than pain, but it's a win because he wavers just long enough for her to push her way in.

She lifts herself up onto the sink, can't resist and smiles at him a little, "Go on."

He shakes his head, yanks open the shower curtain hard enough to nearly yank it down.

She bites her lip, swallows, yeah, she loves this more than she should, "Come on. There's no way you're done bitching at me."

Silence. Apparently she's not pushing hard enough yet.

She hops down from the sink, leans against it, crosses her arms, "At least I didn't tell your mother?"

Success. He spins toward her, mouth hanging open, slams his fist down on the sink to her left, "When will you stop?"

She thinks, oh dear god yes. She says, "When we've fought through this."

"It doesn't even matter that I don't want to?"

She takes a step forward, shakes her head, "Bullshit."

"Just because you don't like what I say doesn't mean you get to call bullshit."

She rolls her eyes, "Like you don't jump at every single chance to teach me a lesson."

He stares at her like he's confused, like this isn't just like them.

She falters slightly, "One free shot, Freddie. Now or never," hops back up on the sink.

"You are such a bitch."

"You can't waste your free shot on that!" She exclaims, pressing her foot against his thigh - he can't look that angry and not touch her, it's just not - right.

He chuckles, but in the unamused contradictory sort of way, and finally, finally traps her with a fist on either side of her knees, her heart is pounding, "Can't do anything right, can I?"

She pulls him in with her legs, braces herself with her hands, "You can do everything right, Freddie."

He sighs, "Sam."

"Please." She settles her fingers on his belt, vindicated, he's enjoyed this too, sets her teeth lightly against his jaw, prays something like 'finally oh god please' over and over, "You know what it does to me when you're all angry and rough with me."

…

"Oh, you have got to be kidding me!" Sam exclaims, a little louder than she meant to, and he goes to take a step back but her legs are still around his waist, "That's never not worked."

"Sam..."

"Doesn't it bother you?"

"Of course it bothers me, but I really think it'll just go away with time."

"Do you really want to wait?"


	3. chills me to the bone

She's - she knows how it might seem. She gets - it's just sex, right? They shouldn't ineed/i it, they should be okay without it for a little while. In theory.

But.

In practice... it doesn't feel that way. And she's not sure if it's just her - it certainly seems everything's fine to him. It could be her - imagination, or something, she's not sure, she just. She can't make the warning bells in her head stop going off. And she hates it, all this worry, all this - dependence, there's no other word for it. She feels off center and off balance and just plain off just because he's touching her different, of all the stupid things, and when did she give anyone but especially him that much control of her? She can't even stay angry about it - she could deal so much better if she could be angry about this change instead of thinking herself in circles and resisting the urge to pack a bag just in case.

She can't even solidify what's bothering her into a sentence in her own head. When she manages to get close, it comes out this way, "That's the line. Isn't it? There's got to be a line between - then and now and friends and - this. More. And come on, that's gotta be it, what else is different?"

But that incomplete summary sticks in her mouth even when she's just talking to herself in the mirror so she just makes a face and shakes her head and goes to bed, silent again, once she's convinced herself just a little that this disconnect she's feeling is a product of too much adrenaline and not enough ham.

She's fine - she's fine, dealing, waiting patiently, managing - she thinks - not to stress about it all that much, until he goes to hug her one morning before she leaves for work and she pushes him away without even thinking - without even being aware what she was doing. And she forces herself to mumble sorry before she's out the door, but she can't, she just can't manage anything more than that.

She's even more off center all day, and she thought when she had the chance to just think it through a little, she'd be able to calm down some, but after her lunch break it's almost worse. She's not mad at him - she's really not, she feels sure about that, but - if it's not that, she's not sure she wants to let herself realize why she did it. But she does.

She just doesn't understand it. At least - now she has a little anger to try and focus on. Because it can be just a problem that it doesn't matter to him, can't it? She can be upset about it not being particularly important to him when this goes away - that's fair, isn't it? She knows it's not close to healthy - but she does relish it a bit, the thought of going home and yelling at him (she can't ask for reassurance, she'll probably never be able to), "because really, what kind of guy is just content with a hug in the morning and a kiss goodnight? if you don't want this, you could just say so.'


	4. Chapter 4

So since fanfic net is doing this removal of stories that describe a 'physical reaction of a violent or sexual nature' (read: all my stories) I'm not going to be posting here any more. All of my stuff is also on AO3, username beverytender, and it might be on dreamwidth soon. Anyways. The best thing about ffnet is the alert system, so if anyone wants to be alerted when I post a chapter or new fic or whatever, send me a message (here or on tumblr (hard-to-translate) or AO3) and let me know which story or fandom or ship you want alerts for, and your email or tumblr or some such, and I will shoot you a message when I post something that you want to know about. 


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